It was wonderful to be around other tattooed folk.  I got to be with my husband for five whole days, doing what adults do.  Awesome.  I was completely awed by Mike Rubendall‘s book, chuffed to see lots of SuicideGirls trotting about, discovered Ruthless is nothing like her television persona (surprise), and reminded that the drama we felt was such an anomaly for our shop this year is all too often par for the course.  We are far from the only ones whose apprentice quit abruptly only to go work down the road!  Nice to see some light in an otherwise dark situation.

4 nights was just long enough away that I enjoyed myself without missing my children, and just long enough that they didn’t have to get missing on me.  They had great fun with grandparents and we were both relieved to be reunited for that 5th night.  We came home laden with goodies, including this years Halloween costumes (Maggie: fireman; Bob: superhero) and an oversized stuffed trout from Uncle Steve and Aunty Morgan.   Can’t share any of the photos he shot until the magazine goes to print, but Steve sure does have magic in his light box I tell you.

Today brought us the annual Terry Fox Run, which Scott and my dad ran once before everyone showed up and again when the run began formally.  Twice for good measure, just to make it stick!

We’ve been enjoying a leisurely afternoon, soaking up the last of these rays before we wind up swathed in downy feathers and GoreTex for six months.

Hope you are too.

…Stand in the Light…

My talented better half is having another one of his walk in days next Friday, which means that you would be able to bypass the wait and the waiting list and get tattooed same day.  He shows up to work around 8am and doesn’t leave until he’s finished.  If you’re interested please call ahead and drop off reference, so they day moves as efficiently as possible.

Also of note, Scott’s diminutive apprentice Choona Mel is now tattooing the public.  She will be pouring extra love and affection into her holiday tattoos and I am hoping I can find her at least one client who wants a Christmas Elf immortalized on their body!  Be that person!

On a personal note, I haven’t been tattooed in ages.  Whine, whinge, wail.  I think this is like the plumbers wife who has a leaky faucet on her bathtub.

I could not have been more pleased with our experience raising turkeys this year.  We brooded them together with the chickens, which every book I have told me would wind up in certain death by black head.  We decided to act instead on wing, prayer and rumor and low and behold it worked out fine.  I can’t believe these little creatures which arrived in their boxes looking like they were on the brink of death turned into such giant birds, in such short time.  They were gentle and curious.  I didn’t find them stupid.  I had been warned “the only thing stupid-er than a turkey is a person who raises turkeys.”  Nope.  These guys just liked routine.  Do something outside of the routine and they were not impressed.  The chickens are like an angry mob on methamphetamines by comparison.  We will absolutely raise turkeys again next year.

Scott and I attended the Montreal Tattoo Convention this past weekend.  It was awesome.  I got to meet all sorts of new friends and catch up with old ones.  It reminded that while I do have lots of interests, tattooing is so much a part of who I am.  My friends are evocative and colourful, and low and behold, underneath my sheep shited wellingtons, I am too.  Hoping to have my back finished by next year’s show!

Our house is chilly already.  We haven’t lit a fire yet, but we’re going to have to soon. Our Amish neighbour STILL has not brought up the 100+ cords of wood he took out of our bush.  We have some kicking around the house, but if this drags on much longer… Why I’ll… just have to go ask politely… again.  Thinking about tucking in for the winter.  The box of kindling and the box of starter that sits by the fire.  Waking up in the middle of the night to stoke the fire.  At least only having goats to look after this winter is going to seem like a breeze!

We have signed up for swimming and kindergym.  We have signed up for music lessons.  I recently got two new board games from Family Pastimes, an Ontario company and I can’t wait to get more.  They are cooperative games and totally awesome.  They’re definitely going to get played a lot this winter, I can tell!

Mental note: gain back the 12+ pounds lost doing the 30 Day Shred and P90 before next session.  Any padding over my ribby back would be welcome.  In fact, gain 30 pounds, soley by eating cream cheese icing and other soft cheese confections.  For fun.

So I got a giant Kali mask tattooed on my back.  We have a giant Kali mask that hangs at the foot of our bed.  It was a wedding present that we bought ourselves.  She is beautiful, violent.  I am not particularly interested in Hindi or Tantra, but I find her image powerful and I particularly enjoyed looking down at her while I gave birth to Maggie in my bed.  While all of my tattoos mean something to me, mostly I just want to look at them.  Because they make me laugh, make me thankful, make me happy.  Nothing I can overly articulate.  I just LIKE them, I like BEING tattooed.  I am not all “every BODY has a story” (thank you for that one, Kat VonD, ahem).   It’s okay to get tattooed just because.

And so I do.

My tattoo session for the Kali outline was longer than my labor with Meeps.  Not kidding.

It hurt.   A lot.  I was quite sure that spread 9 was actually penetrating my ribs, and filleting the top of my ass.  Anyone who says tattoos don’t hurt probably does not have any in their ditches, their throats, their ribs.  Anyone who says tattoos don’t hurt has small tattoos.

Like labor, once you start you have to finish.  There is no turning back.  Like labor, every time the needle lifts, or the contraction stops, there is no discomfort.  Everything is clear.  You just hold on… let go… be ready to dive back into the waves.

The first few hours were OK.  I got by and sat still doing Ina May Gaskin’s “loose lips” breathing.   But by the last hour I was worn out and there was nothing but pain.  I had no energy left and it was at the part where it just feels like torture.  Scott’s friend and #1 Client Myke came in right at the end, I took his hand to hold loosely.  I went from a shaking heap to a still, but weeping heap.  I was so thankful for that understanding hand, I needed that calm and it worked.  He held my hand until the end.  What a ride.  It was totally a wonderful experience, to arrive at the end of that session with those two men.  Transcendent, tremendous… true.

Whenever I am sitting there going “why the hell do I do this to myself?!” I look in the mirror and know.  Because they fucking ROCK, that’s why.  I love it.  I love the experience, I love the result.

I love the adventure.  I love following through.  I love carrying it with me.

We’ll be covering up the “daeomnic energy wave” ass antlers.  And colouring it in… in less marathon lengthed sessions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In other news, I had a good scare this morning.  Maggie was sitting on the kitchen table naked, and when she stood up there was a clump of brown between her buttcheeks.  I thought ohmygod, this is the payback I get for never changing a poopy Meeps diaper.   She’s just shit on the kitchen table.

I picked her up slowly.  I put my head closer.  I sniffed.

Thank god…

She had just sat on a cupcake.

I LOVED my midwives.  Lucy, Heather, Michelle… our favourites.  I can only wish that these women would be able to provide all pediatric and general physical health care for my family; not to mention marital, breastfeeding, and gardening advice.  So sad we must relinquish midwifery care at our 6 week post partum visit – I would have kept them forever.

Bob also hold midwives in high regard.  The other day when it was suggested to him that a certain highly complicated task would be best performed by a team of ninjas, he countered: “no, by a team of midwives”.

Ninjas, midwives.  You know.

And here are some terrible pictures of my really cute tattoos.  I got them coloured in last night.  No backpiece started yet, soon I hope.

I love standing back and watching kids interact.  He and a little girl, a few years older were the last in the showers.  They were beside each other, chatting away.  She announces, “OK!  Time to go, so we can go to gym.  Let’s play together there, OK?!”  He trotted right on out, instead of asking for me to push the button on the shower “one more time.”

We did groceries, got the kids balloons at the dollar store and now Scott is off for a jog, pushing the kids in their totally wicked awesome Mountain Equipment Coop double stroller contraption of brilliance.  (Great price, and the best kid containing device we have). Hopefully they are presently napping in tandem.

Had a most excellent weekend with Caitlin and the Meeps.  SO.  Friggin.  Awesome.  I didn’t take any pictures, because while I am great at taking pictures randomly, when the kids are doing things they do 16x a day, I am bad at taking pictures when you know… it may well be months before you see that person again.

Hoping Scott is going to finish drawing my backpiece tonight.  Listening to the puppy gnaw the wood pile.  Leaving you with pictures from some of our skating adventures.

“What is that stuff, Daddy?”
“That’s a giant rack of poison, Bob. Yuck!”
“But Daddy, I LIKE POISON!”

Oh, we knew it wouldn’t work forever…

* * *

And now some pictures of my neck all nicely coloured in.  There will be a bee tattooed above the flower so it fills in a similar amount of space on my neck as the other side.  And a picture of the kids & I in chore mode.  The only reason my neck is exposed to the frigid winter air is because I had taken off my scarf to tie it around my waist so that I could stuff La Cochonne into my coveralls as she decided that day to join us.  And was in WAY over her head — she at first barked and cornered the goats, but then she turned her back and got rammed.  I scooped her up quickly after that!  For her first time meeting the goats, she nearly got killed.  Silly dab.  Hopefully she’s got some natural instinct in her that tells her to stay away next time, or at least remembers that first hard ram!

1. Leave bandage on overnight.  No peeking!  And change your sheets while you’re at it.
2. Remove bandage.  Do not reapply it.
3. Get in the shower and wash the tattoo until all gooey, shiny stuff is gone and it feels like normal skin to your hand. Use a wash cloth and VERY hot water.  Try not to shriek too loudly, or pass out.
4. Pat dry with a clean towel or use a hair dryer, on a high heat setting.
5. If any goo wells up to the surface, wash it off ASAP. Keep an eye on that shit! Keep it CLEAN and keep it DRY and keep your dirty hands, dog haired sheets and scruffy clothes OFF IT.
6. Once the tattoo has started to flake off in that peely sunburny way, apply some something or other. I don’t personally use any petrochemicals on my wounds for longer than necessary (no Lubriderm, Polysporin, no Aveeno) and I don’t want anything sticky (attracts germs). So I usually use whatever oily balm I have kicking around that I’ve fashioned from ingredients like calendula oil, sweet almond, hemp seed and a touch of beeswax, and it absorbs quickly but thoroughly. This just gets me through the milky skin stage quicker.
7. Hey you!  Don’t pick! If you have to pick something, go for your nose.

And that friends, is how I heal my tattoos.

We returned home in the early evening after icecream cones from the stand in town to put the doors on our goat hut.  We figured we were all in good time as she was not due until August 1st.  Uncle Donald walked out first and saw little goat babies frolicking around the pen!  What a pleasant surprise.

The maternity ward was finished up quickly (wait until you see the sweet touch on the doors) and mama and babies were soon nestled quietly in a cushy bedding of straw.  No sooner were they all inside than it started to rain.  Could not have worked out better.  Not only did we not have to “make it feel like a banana” (play midwife to any potential breech births or the like), she’s taken to mothering beautifully.  Her little kiddos have had a few latching problems, but they’re nursing like champions now.

We have decided to work our way through the alphabet with every group of kids and keep the names tattoo related.  SO.  The boy is blonde, named Amund (for Amund Dietzel) and the girl is black and white with blue eyes, named Alva (for Th0mas Alva Edison).

Here are the first (of many) pictures of our beautiful little babies.

I am taking a brief break from cleaning my manky cheese covered kitchen to post this.  The kids are doing this amazing thing called PLAYING TOGETHER, which is a total sanity saver.  For every minute they spend entertaining eachother, I gain back the tiny parts of my brain that wither when they cry in unison.